Passion Victim
by RonHeartbreaker
Summary: An improbable pairing. One is sinister; the other, a poindexter. Will they, despite their different stripes, patch together something special? Or is one of them being taken for a seersucker? Read on for my answer to MrDrP's Valentine's Day challenge!
1. Pleating for Help

**Passion Victim**

Kim closed her locker door, mind on her next class. Startled by a looming shadow, she stepped back and looked up into the dark eyes of… 

"Officer Twill." She sighed, briefly noting the glen plaid double-breasted suit he was sporting, with its expertly folded pocket square. 

"Miss Possible." He nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

She glanced over her right shoulder. As expected, Tweed stood behind her, impassive in a ventless gray windowpane. 

Kim looked back at Twill, her eyes narrowed. "So…what is it this time? More celebrity fashion crimes to pin on me?" 

"I'm afraid not, Miss Possible," Tweed replied, walking around to stand side-by-side with his partner. He paused. "Was that a fashion pun? You'll want to be careful with those – in the wrong hands they can be quite dangerous." 

Twill nodded, then looked intently at Kim. "We've got a different kind of problem." 

"You ain't kidding, Yves St. Low-rent," interjected Monique as she came around the corner and caught sight of the pair. "Still with the fauxhawk, Twill? Did you have a time-travel mishap and get caught in 2002?" 

Tweed glanced at Twill, who looked away. 

"We can't talk about it." 

By this time Ron had joined them. 

"Hey-hey! The couture cops! Okay, I got somethin' for ya: Knock knock." 

"Who's there?" asked Twill, deadpan as ever. 

"Police," replied Ron, shooting a sly smile at Kim, who cocked an eyebrow. 

"Police who?" asked Tweed , scribbling in his notepad. 

"Police don't ...hey…," as a worried look began to cross Ron's face, "hey, why are you writing, what's with the writing?" 

"Police don't hey hey why are you writing, what's with the writing," Tweed repeated, then looked up from his notepad and exchanged a glance with Twill. 

"I don't get it," Twill said, his voice utterly affectless. 

"Ah, never mind," said Ron, sourly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the row of lockers. 

Kim had had about enough. 

"Ok, thanks for that little interlude, but I'm late for AP history, and today's topic is _not_ fashion mis-steps through the ages. So, are you going to tell me why you're here this time?" 

"Certainly, Miss Possible. It's about… this." Tweed reached inside his jacket and withdrew a polaroid. "It's got us worried." 

Monique and Ron gathered around Kim to get a better look at the picture. In what was clearly a prison yard – basketball court off to one side, multiple layers of chain-link fence and barbed wire visible in the background – was a couple, kissing. On the left: a tall, slim woman, in a bright orange one-piece prison jumpsuit. On the right… 

Kim gasped in recognition. "Hoodie. And…Frugal Lucre?" 

Ron shuddered at the image. "Makes my skin crawl." 

Twill gave him a look. "Probably just the synthetic fibers you're wearing."

TBC


	2. Cupid's Arrow Collar

I.

"I don't get it," said Ron, rubbing the back of his neck and examining the picture. "Hoodie with Lucre? Sure, they've got bargain-basement pricing in common, but beyond that…."

"That's why we're concerned," replied Twill. "Prison romances are a dime a dozen. But these two? Definitely not cut from the same cloth."

"Well, what do you want from us?" asked Kim, tapping her foot impatiently.

Tweed leveled his gaze at her. "You know Lucre better than just about anyone."

"Except maybe his mom," interjected Ron.

"We need your insights," continued Tweed. "What could Hoodie want from Frugal? Or vice versa? One of these two is a wolf in sheep's clothing, that's for certain."

"Ok, wait, my turn!" shouted Ron. "_Keep your shirts on_, fashion fuzz. I can see you're really _vested_ in this – but you don't know, they could be _model citizens!"_

Supremely pleased with himself, Ron grinned.

Then noticed the silence in the hallway as Twill, Tweed, Kim, and Monique stared at him, speechless.

Somewhere, a cricket chirped.

"Aw, c'mon!" Ron whined. "Everybody else gets to do it!"

Kim took his hand sympathetically, then turned back to the fashion police.

"Ok, we'll do what we can. But _after_ history class."

"That's fine," replied Tweed. "Besides, we've got a 419 in progress," he noted, looking down at his handheld.

Twill slapped a hand over his eyes in despair. "Acid washed jeans."

They dashed off down the hall, an air of urgency about them, as Kim, Monique, and a mostly mollified Ron went off to class.

II.

_Three months earlier…_

At the table in the prison yard, Chino crossed his arms and looked at his partners in crime and punishment.

"I've had just about enough of this dump. We're getting out of here."

"Oh, great!" said Hoodie, dripping with sarcasm. "Are we just going to _walk_ out?"

Chino frowned, contemplating the path that had brought him here.

Charles Noble was anything but, even as a child. He enjoyed the attention that came from being something of an artistic prodigy, but realized early on that working was for suckers. And had a seriously negative impact on his leisure time.

He knew there had to be a better way.

In elementary school he cheated off his classmates. In high school he sold bootleg cassettes of popular albums to fund his nights at the clubs. In college he fenced stolen term papers. By the time he graduated, he had few peers in trading in stolen intellectual property.

But where to next? What field offered the most comfortable lifestyle with the best opportunities for making it big without really working for it?

Fashion was the obvious answer. The glamour, the supermodels, the inexplicable styles… and the masses of Americans chasing after the latest trends, practically begging for knockoffs, then, three months later, turning around and begging for new knockoffs.

He could smell the money. And the Cristal.

After an internship with Elsa Klieg's _The Style File _(secured with an inflated resume, of course), he was on his way. California-boy good looks, artistic abilities, and well-cultivated bravado made it easy for him to insinuate himself into the design world. Establishing connections with fashion houses from New York to Milan to Tokyo (and sweatshops from Guadalajara to Phnom Penh ), he became… Chino.

Ah, truly the good times had rolled.

Until Kim Possible – that pale, style-less wannabe - showed up in Milan. And he landed in prison.

He looked at his companions once again. Hoodie had gone back to sunning herself, while Espadrille was absentmindedly counting the stitches on her custom-made moccasins.

"If there's one thing I've learned over the years," Chino continued, "it's that it never pays to do something yourself if you can get someone else to do it for you."

"Oh yes?" Espadrille (real name: Elizabeth Durell) looked up from her fleece-lined leather slippers. "And just who is going to break us out of here? We already tried that with Possible and her preposterous mission outfit. And look what happens – she leaves us in here _and _rips off our design!" She put a hand on her forehead. "Oh, the irony!"

"Forget about Possible," Chino said. "Our ticket out of here is…Frugal Lucre." And with this he pointed across the yard to where Francis Lurman was playing badminton by himself, running back and forth under the net in a futile effort to keep the shuttlecock aloft.

"That guy?" Hoodie - nee Diane LaHood - asked, incredulously. "He's the biggest loser in this joint! How is he going to stage a prison break?"

Chino smiled smugly. "You see, I know something you don't. A couple years back 'that guy' cracked Smarty Mart security, brought down the internet singlehandedly, and captured Kim Possible with nothing but beef bouillon and a supersoaker…"

Chino paused at the confused looks on his partners' faces. "_Villains View Weekly_," he said, by way of explanation of his knowledge. "They recently did a profile on him."

"My point is, if there's anybody who can figure a way out of here with the resources at hand, it's Lurman."

"Or as I call him," he said, leaning in closer, "the Frugal Factor."


	3. The Clever Weaver

Wow! I still can't believe it, but thanks to MrDrP for picking this story as the winner of the Valentine's Daypalooza! I'll use my toothbrush with pride! And I promise to finish as soon as humanly possible!

Thanks to all the readers, and the (sigh) handful of reviewers: BlueEyedBrigadier, Danny-171984, King in Yellow, Samurai Crunchbird, Slyrr, and Yankee Bard.

As has been stated previously here and there, Disney owns KP and ancillary characters.

* * *

_Previously…_

"My point is, if there's anybody who can figure a way out of here with the resources at hand, it's Lurman. Or as I call him," Chino said, leaning in closer, "the Frugal Factor."

I.

"We just need a way to _encourage_ him to help us..." Chino looked intently at Hoodie.

She looked back, one skeptical eye visible under the hood. "Why me? Why not _her?_" And she jerked her head in Espadrille's direction.

"Ugh, no way," said Espadrille, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"C'mon, Hoodie," countered Chino. "This job is custom-made for you. You've been faking things your whole life -- surely you can...entice...Francis to trust you. And help _us_."

Hoodie's lips turned upward into a well-worn smirk. "I suppose you're right."

She looked back over at Lucre, who was stumbling around the yard, clutching his left knee in agony after having accidentally swatted it with the badminton racket.

"Child's play," she said, through a sneer.

Chino leaned back and crossed his arms, contemplating freedom.

II.

Lurman was watching the upward arc of the shuttlecock, positioning himself to swat it back into the air, when suddenly he felt a tremendous blow to his side. Losing both his breath and his balance, he fell over onto his back, onto the hard surface of the badminton court.

He lay there, sprawled out full length, as his eyes, struggling to refocus, detected a brawny, blond figure standing above him. With one smooth move Chino snatched the badminton birdie out of the air.

"Sorry about that, Frugal _Loser_," Chino sneered, "but you've been hogging the court. Get lost!"

All of a sudden, quick as a flash, a long, track-suited leg kicked Chino firmly in the backside, jolting him a couple of feet, and it was his turn to stumble. The shuttlecock flew out of his hands and into the air as he emitted a surprised "hey!" and regained his balance.

"Don't be an ass, Chino," said Hoodie, drawing her leg back in, Lurman's eyes now focusing on her tall, lithe form. "We're fashion criminals, not schoolyard bullies." Suddenly the leg flashed back out and she made contact with the falling shuttlecock, lofting it back into the air. With seemingly no effort at all, she kicked it around a bit with the one leg, otherwise standing perfectly still. Wordlessly, Lurman watched her leg and foot move, while Chino grumbled, rubbed his wounded pride, and walked off.

Finally Hoodie tired of the diversion and gave the birdie a last kick. It flew up, then down, and landed right in the middle of Lucre's chest. She turned without giving him a second look and followed Chino off the court.

Lucre watched her go, speechless.

Then fingered the sore spot on his sternum left by the birdie, and muttered to himself, "Ooh, that's going to leave a mark."

III.

Later on, back at the picnic table which the fashionistas had appropriated as their own, Chino looked at Hoodie quizzically.

"Why didn't you help him up? Or at least say something to him?"

Hoodie glanced, smirking, at Espadrille - who snickered knowingly - and then turned back to Chino.

"Sha', Chino, very subtle. Y'know, while I was at it, I coulda just planted a big wet one on him and confessed my love!" She stretched out and then reached down to scratch an ankle. "Get a life, _Cheese-_no. I'm in charge of phase one of your little plan - fine. I'm going to do it right. Reel him in slowly. Not jump all over him like a grieving widow in a lousy soap opera."

She stood up.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got kickboxing practice."

She walked off. Chino rubbed his jaw and looked over at Espadrille. She just shrugged.

IV.

"You?! What are you doing here? I've never seen you here before…"

Lurman stared, goggle-eyed, at Hoodie, who sat at one of the prison library tables, magazines and books spread out in front of her.

She looked up and scowled at him.

"Libraries are for _everyone, _Frugal Loser. Didn't you see the sign?" She pointed behind him. Sure enough, looking over his shoulder, he saw a small sign: _Libraries Are For Everyone._

He turned back to Hoodie.

"Now, that's not very nice," he said, "calling names and making fun. Just because we're in the clink doesn't mean that we can't be civil. It's as my Aunt Melba always used to say..."

"Ok, ok, _Francis, _if I stop making fun of you will you go away? I'm trying to get some work done here." And she waved one slender, perfectly manicured, hand at the spread of style magazines.

"Ooh! Ooh! _Fashion." _Lurman's face lit up. "You're into fashion! Me too!"

Lurman's voice, as ever several decibels too high, had begun drawing pointed stares from some of the other supervillains enjoying quiet time. "Shut it, Lucre!" shrieked Aviarius, peering out from behind an illustrated copy of _Audobon's Birds of America_.

Lurman ignored the interruption.

"Have you seen the latest SmartyMart catalogue? The faux-chambray and synthetic natural fibers! They're sheer genius! How can they make them so slick and yet so... smart?!"

Hoodie rolled her eyes. _Unbelievable._ "Listen, Lurman. We have _nothing_ in common. I'm a big time figure in the fashion underground. _And _I'm hot." She preened slightly - causing Lurman to feel an unfamiliar tickle in his chest - then continued:

"And you're a short, undistinguished, hairy-armed, prison yard yenta. I don't even know what you're in for, but I bet it was something like trying to get a bank to accept a roll of 99 pennies for a dollar!"

Lurman wasn't going to take that lying down.

"Oh! How unkind! I'll have you know that I am a master criminal! And a master of disguise!" He found himself reflexively slipping into a terrible eastern European accent for a moment, before recovering. "I nearly…nearly" (he grumbled slightly under his breath) "had billions of dollars! I brought the internet to a crashing halt _all by myself_! Why, if it weren't for that Kim Possible and her ridiculous sidekick, I'd be on easy street….Did you know you can often buy tropical islands under foreclosure or at a seized-property auction at a tremendous discount?"

Hoodie's eyes widened at the mention of the teen hero. "So Possible put you away, huh, Francis? Well, maybe we do have _one_ thing in common."

Lurman looked confused; then _his_ eyes popped open in realization. "Oh-ho! So Possible caught _you¸_ too! _Some_one's not that special after all!"

"Shhhhh!" Two tables over, Chester Yapsby looked up from a dog-eared copy of _Entomology Today_ and shushed at them.

Hoodie glared at Yapsby, then back at Lurman. "Yeah, well…," she began, then seemed to think better of it. "Forget it. I'm out of here." She began gathering up the magazines and books.

Lurman's expression quickly changed to one of chagrin. "No. Wait. I'm sorry! I'm really not an angry person. Just high-strung, like my Mom always says…"

Hoodie stood up and, using her height to advantage, leaned forward over the small table until she was almost nose-to-nose with Francis. He couldn't help but notice her flawless skin and the clean scent of her shampoo.

"Well, _Francis,_ unless you want to be high-strung-_up_, stay out of my way. I don't plan on being in here long, and I've no time for _master criminals_ whose greatest aspiration is a triple-word score on game night!"

She sauntered away.

For the second time in as many days, Lurman watched her stalk off, before bursting out with:

"Wow! What a _woman_!"

"SHUT _UP_, Lucre!" shouted the multi-colored chorus of villainy as Lurman, in a semi-daze, followed Hoodie out of the library.


	4. Unraveling

A point of clarification: this tale takes place _during_ S4, between _Clothes Minded_ (when Kim asks the Fashionistas to design her new mission wear) and _Mentor of Our Discontent_ (when Frugal, somewhat surprisingly, is a free man). (I'm following MrDrP's S4 timeline as laid out in Zaratan's forum.)

Special thanks to Jurnee Jakes for his story "Seriously Freaky" (also an entrant in the VDaypalooza) for showing me how to spell Motor Ed's "augh yeah".

As ever, Disney owns Kim Possible and ancillary characters.

* * *

I.

_A few weeks later… _

"Lucre! Dude! Dude! What is _up_ with you?" Motor Ed growled at Lurman from the neighboring bed. Moonlight flooded in through the barred window, illuminating the cramped cell and its side-by-side cots. "You were talking in your sleep again! And what is _up_ with that smile all the time? Seriously."

Lurman stirred, opened his eyes, and looked over at his cellmate, with indeed a slight smile on his lips.

"Oh. I was just thinking about…her. You know. Hoodie. My _girl_friend. Yes, that's right, my GF!_" _

"Lucre, bro, you're damaged goods. Seriously. You're obsessed with this chicka!"

"And why _shouldn't_ I be? Huh, Ed? She's beautiful, and smart, and talented, and she's _my _girlfriend!" Lurman clasped his hands behind his head, stared up at the ceiling, and sighed contentedly.

The mullethead swung his legs over the side of the bed so he was sitting up, facing Lucre. "My point exactly, bro! Look at yourself! What business do _you_ have with a honey like that? It violates all the _rules!" _

"The rules?" Francis looked over at Ed, confused.

"You know, bro. The rules. The _rules!?_" Ed slapped himself in the forehead in consternation. "You know, about ladies! The ones that say that no major league babe like Hoodie goes out with a shlump like you! No offense, bro."

"Oh! None taken," responded Lurman, absentmindedly. "You mean there are rules for this kind of thing?"

Ed flung himself back on the bed, exasperated. "Chief! Get with the _program! _I don't mean to harsh your romantic mellow, but c'mon – what do you offer a supermodel-villain?! Someone like me, I could see it – great physique, terrific hair" (running a hand through the mullet) "wicked axe work" (leaping up on the bed to air guitar) "whau-au-au-au-yeah!, definitely, seriously. But _you?_"

Lurman was starting to get riled. "Oh. I see. Jealous! You are jealous!"

Ed rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes you are! I'll have you know, Mr. Motor Mouth, that I have a lot to offer a woman."

He started ticking items off on his fingers.

"Smart. Definitely! And suave… A veritable criminal mastermind…yet sensitive. Great sense of style – we have a lot in common there. Actually, you know, we're talking about developing a line of low-priced clothing together. 'Frugal for Her.' Clever, no? Now where was I... yes...I have terrific IT skills – quite crucial in the modern knowledge economy…I'm fiscally responsible – girls like that in a man!"

He paused, reviewing his inventory, and his eyes lit up again. "And let's not forget that I can get stains out of just about anything, with nothing more than simple kitchen supplies! Very important for people in the fashion biz. Why, just the other day in the cafeteria Hoodie spilled some gravy on her tracksuit, and luckily…"

Ed couldn't take it any more.

"Bro! Earth to Lucre! Sure, weirder things have happened, like Red dating her own sidekick." He shuddered. "But she's playing you, dude." He poked Lucre in the chest with a meaty forefinger, causing the smaller man to wince. "I've seen it before. Don't trust her. Has she asked you to help her break out yet, dude?"

"What? Don't be ridiculous, you pony-tailed numbskull. It's not like that."

Ed lay back on the bed and put his hands behind his head. "I'm just saying, Lucre. Watch your back." He rolled over to face the wall.

Lurman lay back, again staring at the ceiling, less contentedly this time, before falling into a somewhat fitful sleep.

II.

"What is _up_ with you?" Espadrille asked her cellmate, looking at her fellow fashionista in concern as Hoodie paced back and forth in the cramped confines.

"I don't know!" Hoodie responded angrily, before throwing herself down on the bed in exasperation. "That little nerd has gotten into my head!"

Espadrille looked puzzled for a moment. Suddenly her eyes widened in realization. "No."

"Yessss!"

"Oh God no. Lurman? _Lurman_!?" Her expression registered the shock.

"Auggh! You think I planned this? You think I _wanted_ this? This is a disaster!"

"You're telling me," said Espadrille, not unsympathetically. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know. At first he was just annoying. Then…. well, then he was still annoying. But then…I don't know," she repeated, sitting up and burying her face in her hands, "he started to seem kind of… sweet. Like a lost puppy or something."

"O-kay," responded Espadrille, thoroughly confused. "So… you tie him in a sack and drown him."

Hoodie glared at her balefully. "He really is pretty smart, you know. Even if he's also clueless. And he worships me! You spend enough time around fashion world hotties and you get taken for granted. Lurman thinks I'm the best thing ever." She sighed. "Which, I guess I am, for him."

"Plus he's very handy. Why, you know what he made me for Valentine's Day? An MP3 player! Out of scrap metal from the shop and discarded cafeteria trays! Sure, it's kind of bulky, and prone to skipping, but…wow. And he can get stains out of just about anything! Why, the other day I spilled some gravy on myself and he –"

"Enough!" barked Espadrille. "I can't listen to another word." She leaned forward on the bed until she was face to face with Hoodie. "Hoods. Get a grip. You can't have feelings for this guy. First of all, think of what it would do to your – our – reputation for you to be seen with him!"

"Too late," muttered Hoodie.

"But more important – he's our ticket out of here! Not _your_ boyfriend – _our_ escape route! If you blow it because you get attached, and feel guilty, or something… that's the end of us."

Hoodie lay down and stretched out her full length on the cot. "I know, I know. Head in the game, Hoodie."

"That's right," continued Espadrille. "Frugal Loser-"

"Don't call him that!" shouted Hoodie, springing up, surprising even herself.

Espadrille just looked at her, then shook her head slightly. "I'm sorry, Hoodie. I won't. But, I gotta tell you, honestly, I was pretty skeptical of this whole plan to begin with, but I'd been starting to hope a little bit. Please don't let us down."

Hoodie collapsed onto her bed with a quiet "ok."

Espadrille smiled wanly. "Don't worry, Hoods. Before you know it Lurman will just be annoying again, and this whole thing will be over with. C'mon. Let's try to get some sleep." She rolled over to face the wall.

"Ok," said Hoodie once more, but her tossing and turning continued for quite some time before she drifted off.


	5. Following the Thread

Thanks to acosta perez jose ramiro, BlueEyedBrigadier, Danny-171984, MrDrP, SamuraiCrunchbird, and whitem for the reviews. Sincere apologies to all for the outrageous delay in posting this update - had a simultaneous attack of real life and writers' block. I believe I'm over both, however, and am heading towards the conclusion of this little lark...

You know the drill: KP belongs to Disney.

* * *

I.

Lurman stood on his side of the badminton net, watching as Hoodie gracefully reached out with her racket and, with a gentle "thock," sent the shuttlecock arcing back towards him.

_My goodness, she is beautiful, _he thought, as he less-than-gracefully scrambled to knock the birdie back over to her.

Lurman wanted to simply revel in the excitement of dating such a hottie – so _cool_ – but he couldn't shake a decided insecurity which had been plaguing him since his late-night conversation with Motor Ed a few days back.

Frugal Lucre had never wanted for self-confidence. He was, after all, a self-made man, having pulled himself up by his discount bootstraps to become one of the most feared supervillains in the world.

Nor did he buy Ed's nonsense about "the rules." Why _shouldn't_ a smart, savvy fellow like himself be attractive to someone like Hoodie?

And yet… there was, uncharacteristically, a bit of self-doubt.

The birdie's suddenly bouncing off his forehead brought him out of his reverie.

"Ow!" he cried, dropping his racket in surprise.

"Francis?" Hoodie looked at him with concern. "I'm sorry, it was an accident." She sighed. "You're kind of out of it today. Penny for your thoughts?"

Lucre smiled wanly and picked up the racket and birdie. "Oh, nothing, Hoods… just daydreaming…. Really, you shouldn't be so cavalier about pennies…in this era of rising commodity prices, the zinc alone is worth almost three cents…"

Hoodie cut him off. "Daydreaming, huh? About what? About me?" She ducked under the net and walked over, reaching out to gently rub the spot where the shuttlecock had connected with his head.

"Kinda…" Lurman wasn't sure how to reply.

"I know I'm not exactly the kind of girl you take home to mother," Hoodie said, smiling ruefully, "but I really think we've got something special…."

Her face darkened a bit. "Not like you could bring me home to mother, anyway, since we're stuck in this god-forsaken joint." She waved her arm carelessly at the motley collection of supervillains and garden-variety criminals scattered across the prison yard.

"Oh, I dunno," replied Lurman, taking her hand. "It wouldn't be that hard to arrange, really…cybersecurity in this place is a joke." He shrugged, then said, almost as an afterthought, "I hacked into their system years ago from the prison library. I could just put us in for a furlough…"

Hoodie's eyes widened. "You mean you could bust out of here any time you want? Francis! Why on earth haven't you?"

"What?" Lurman was genuinely surprised by the question. "I dunno…I've got it pretty good in here, I guess."

Hoodie raised an eyebrow, demanding further explanation.

Lurman looked at her incredulously. "Well, eventually they'd notice I'd gone missing, and then I'd be a fugitive. And that's a pricy proposition! Hair dyes, motel rooms, lost deposits on rental vehicles, and all _kinds_ of out-of-pocket medical expenses…

"In here, I get three squares, lots of entertainment – remember when that space alien broke Drakken out? – and plenty of time to schmooze with the criminal elements."

Hoodie looked quizzical.

"You may not realize," Lurman continued, "but folks on the outside can pay a lot of money to hone their evil skills. Y'know: trade magazine subscriptions, annual conferences, private tutors….Here, you can pick it up firsthand, for free! It's like villainy extension school…the Evil Learning Annex! And for _nothing!_"

Lurman folded his arms and grinned. "Nope, I'm serving my time, gaining street cred, and once I'm out – hoo-boy, it's gonna be _wicked_!"

Then his expression turned thoughtful. "Though I could really use a practicum…maybe once I'm out I could get an evil internship…or a mentor or something…"

Hoodie just shook her head in amazement and confusion. "Francis…you're really something else. You could walk out of this place any time! Do you realize what that means?"

She stepped forward and put her hands on his upper arms. He looked up at her, confused.

"Francis. I can't stay in here. It's killing me. I had a life out there. Me, Espadrille, Chino…"

Lurman wrinkled his nose at the mention of her bullying partner in crime.

"Out there, I was on top of the world! In here, I'm nobody. And what about us? We can't even be together! Oh, sure, we can play badminton for fifty minutes every day… but that's it!"

She took a deep breath. "I want…I _need_ more than that…Francis," and she looked at him pleadingly, "please, please, won't you get me – get _us_ – out of here?"

Lurman's eyes narrowed a tiny bit. "You want me to break you out?"

Hoodie glanced furtively around the courtyard, then back at Lurman. "Break _us _out. Yes."

Lurman felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. Was that idiot Motor Ed right?

Hoodie leaned in and brought her lips near to his. "Please…" she whispered, and then closed the gap, her lips on his. Lurman's eyes widened, then closed as he embraced the moment.

Neither noticed the camera flash.

When, a moment later, Hoodie turned away and ran off to her kickboxing lesson, Lurman's self-doubt returned, more powerful than ever. He idly rolled the shuttlecock between his hands, pondering what to do.

II.

He was lying on his bed, engrossed in thought, when a guard appeared at the cell door.

"Lucre! You've got a visitor! C'mon, I'm taking you to the interview room."

Lurman was surprised at whom he saw upon entering.

"You!"

"That's right, _Francis,"_ said Ron, grinning. "It's _me. _Your nemesis. The guy who stuffed your sinister sausage scheme."

"And now you're here to gloat? Took you long enough."

"Gloat? No, Frugal. I'm here to _talk._ About this."

Ron coolly tossed a photograph onto the table.

Unfortunately, he'd put a bit too much english on it, and the photograph slid right past Lurman, flew off the table, and landed on the floor.

Both Lurman and Ron looked at the photo for a moment.

"Right!" Ron said, smartly, nonchalantly walking over to pick up the photo. He made to toss it onto the table again, but thought better of it and slapped it down directly in front of Lurman. "Can you explain _this?"_

And he pointed at the Polaroid of Frugal and Hoodie kissing in the prison yard.

"I ain't tellin' you nothin', copper!" Lucre suddenly shouted.

Ron looked back in surprise. "Dude, that's _cold_. I'm flesh and blood, just like you…If you prick me, do I not bleed?"

"What?" Now it was Frugal's turn to look confused. "No, no, it's an expression. I thought it sounded kinda tough …In the old days, the unrepentant bad guy always called the policeman 'copper.'" He nodded confidently. "It's where the word 'cop' is derived from. It's because of the copper buttons police used to have on their coats…"

Ron scowled. "The topic here is crime, not fashion, Lucre." Then his eyes narrowed as a thought struck him. "Or _is_ it?"

"What?" Lucre was thoroughly lost.

"What what?" So was Ron.

The sound of a palm smacking a forehead could be clearly heard through the one-way glass on one side of the room.

In an effort to recover his bearings, Ron quickly glanced around. His eyes lit upon the picture, still on the table. "A-ha!" he exclaimed, pointing.

"What? What 'a-ha'? I'm kissing my girlfriend!"

"Sha'. Your girlfriend." Ron rolled his eyes. "Francis, Francis, Francis. Have you ever heard of a little thing called 'the rules'?"

Lurman's head fell. "Jeez louise. Not you too!"

"Ah," Ron continued smugly. "I think you know what I'm about to say. No _way_ you're with Hoodie. What's really going on here?"

"Just what it looks like, Ron Stoppable," Lucre sneered. "I've got a girlfriend, and she's _all_ woman. What, you think only you can get the girl?"

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear, Francis," said Ron, his voice uncharacteristically calm. "No way, Francis. No. _Way_. You are being _played_! She's using you." He leaned in close, staring down Lucre. "Has she asked to borrow your SmartyMart discount card yet?"

This provoked a reaction from Lucre. He sat up straight and suddenly shifted into a Romanian – or possibly Italian, or possibly Kazakh - accent.

"You fool! She has discovered vat the rest of the world vill soon come to know: Fru-gal Lu-cre is _iiirresistible!"_

III.

Tweed and Twill looked at Ron as he stepped into the observation room. Then all three turned to look through the one-way glass at Lucre, who was still sitting in the interview room, a smug expression on his face.

"Didn't get much, did you," Tweed directed at Ron. It was not a question.

Ron looked pensive. "Well, normally I'd give serious props to the geek who gets the girl – but Frugal? I just don't cotton to 'im."

He glanced sidelong towards the fashion police, hardly daring to breathe.

Twill and Tweed's eyes met for an instant, then returned their focus to Ron.

Tweed's chin dipped a fraction of an inch.

"Not bad," he pronounced.

"A-booyah!" Ron punched the air above his head in triumph. "The Ronman shoots and scores with the fashion pun!"

Twill's eyes narrowed. "Don't push it, greenhorn."

"Aw, man!" Ron went on, grinning. "Why you gotta rayon on my parade?"

Twill snorted in disgust. "Let's just hope that Possible comes up with more."

_TBC_


	6. Threading the Needle

Thanks, as ever, to the handful of reviewers who have encouraged this bizarre little flight of fancy: BlueEyedBrigadier, HecatonchiresLM, Mengsk, MrDrP, and Samurai Crunchbird.

Kim Possible is copyright Disney.

* * *

I.

Kim sat impatiently in the interview room in the women's wing of the penitentiary, waiting for Hoodie.

The door opened and the track-suited fashionista strode in. She glanced at the teen hero and snorted dismissively.

"Well, Possible," Hoodie began in a mocking tone. "Just couldn't stay away, could ya. What needs freshening up this time?" She made a show of looking Kim up and down before continuing. "Sorry, but I don't _do_ hair and makeup."

She strolled over to the table and settled herself into the chair opposite Kim, stretching out her legs and crossing her feet on the tabletop so her soles were pointed directly at the redhead.

Kim growled and stood up. Placing both hands flat on the table, she leaned in and glared at Hoodie.

"What are you up to, Hoodie? We all _know_ your relationship with Lucre is a set-up. So what gives? Is he helping you raise money? Steal more fashion secrets?"

Hoodie just smiled.

"Can't believe it, can you? That he and I could have something special. Your little post-adolescent mind just can't handle it." She snorted again in derision. "_Teen_agers."

"Oh puh-leeze!" Now it was Kim's turn to be derisive. "You expect me to accept that you," and she waved her hand, taking in Hoodie's frame, "and…and Lucre? The chinless wonder? You're a _fashionista_! _His_ plots revolve around canned meat!"

Hoodie folded her arms. "I have nothing further to say." She paused. "On second thought, let me leave you with this." She nodded at Kim's mission top. "Purple: no longer the new black."

Kim growled again and stormed out of the interview room.

II.

Twill, Tweed, Kim, and Ron stood in the reception area of the prison. Their gloom was palpable.

Tweed frowned. "Nothing out of Lucre. And nothing out of Hoodie. She's smooth as silk, that one."

Tweed nodded in agreement. "No surprise Possible wasn't able to sew it up."

Ron clapped his hands over his ears, and cried, "Aw, KP! Make 'em stop!"

Kim gently took Ron's hands down from his ears.

"This is ferociously frustrating," she said, to no one in particular. "Now what?"

"There's only one thing to do," responded Tweed.

Kim and Ron looked at him expectantly. Twill looked on, knowingly.

"Inspector Houndstooth."

III.

Lucre sat at the table, waiting to be escorted back to his cell.

But when the door opened, it wasn't one of the guards that entered.

Instead, a short, slim figure, with thinning hair and striking grey eyes, stepped into the room. Impeccably groomed, he wore a bespoke navy pinstriped double-breasted suit with a richly textured shirt and boldly patterned purple silk tie.

"Inspector Houndstooth," he said by way of introduction, doffing the bowler hat that sat delicately upon his head, silver cufflinks just peeking from beneath his jacket.

Lucre's eyes narrowed.

"I already told Stoppable – I've got nothing to say."

Houndstooth sat down smartly opposite Lucre, giving his pants a slight tug in order that the fabric not stretch as he crossed his legs.

"Come now, Frugal. You may have bamboozled that boy, after a fashion, but if I've been called in, it means the gloves are off."

He examined his manicured fingernails for a moment, glanced up at Lucre, then continued. "Haven't been sleeping much, have we? A little bit anxious, no?"

Lucre couldn't look Houndstooth in the eye. "You're not going to start in about 'the rules,' too, are you?"

Houndstooth just smiled and ran a finger over the thin mustache that graced his upper lip.

"No, Frugal. I'm not here to play games. I'm here to make you an offer."

Lurman looked at him intently.

"Perhaps you've got something with Hoodie. Perhaps not. I don't, frankly, care. The Fashionistas have been undermining genuine couture houses for too long now. Savile Row and Milan need them to stay penned up. As it were."

He smiled again. "And, as I say, you may have something going on with Miss LaHood. But then again, maybe you don't. Maybe she is just playing you. Using you. Taking advantage of your superior technical skills and…innovative character, in order to break out of here."

Lurman shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes, we know what's going on." He sighed. "In general terms, that is. But we need to know when. And how."

"And why would I tell you that? _Copper._" Lurman folded his arms across his chess.

Houndstooth brightened. "Ooh! Copper. I see you're a fan of the classics. Well done, Francis, well done….How would you like to walk out of here a free man?"

Lurman, nonplussed, unfolded his arms, then folded them again, before settling for putting his hands in his lap.

"Now, Francis, don't fall apart at the seams. You heard what I said. Scot-free. Your time served. Your debt to society repaid. Appealing, isn't it? And all you have to do is help me ensure that three criminals remain in prison." He sighed again. "Of course, you might prefer to pass up this opportunity in the hope that Miss LaHood's affections for you are genuine. You wouldn't be the first man to let his heart rule his mind… but what would your mother say?"

Lurman looked even more uncomfortable.

Houndstooth stood up and made a show of dusting off his pants legs. "Well, it was a pleasure speaking with you, Francis. Please do consider my proposal. You'll let me know when you've finished your, er…_wool_gathering, won't you? The warden knows how to reach me."

He turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving Lurman staring, openmouthed, at the door.

_To be concluded..._


	7. Dernier Cri

* * *

Welcome to the concluding chapter of _Passion Victim,_ and thanks to faithful readers BlueEyedBrigadier, CajunBear73, Danny-171984, Mengsk, and SamuraiCrunchbird. And Mr. Average!

And of course to MrDrP for inspiring the whole thing and deeming it, lo these many months ago, VDaypalooza winner. (Given the pace at which I write, my goal was to finish before the _next _VDaypalooza competition. I hereby declare victory!)

Kim Possible and ancillary characters are copyright Disney Corporation.

* * *

I.

Four figures slunk through the darkness, keeping to the deepest shadows of the penitentiary walls.

"Hsst!" said the lead figure. The four stood perfectly still for an instant.

A well-trained ear could have just detected the sounds of a half-dozen super-secure, magnetic, computer-controlled locks opening in unison.

The lead figure spoke again, this time gloatingly. "Perfect…we're home free. Let's go."

The four approached the series of gates that were the last barriers separating them from the outside.

Suddenly a commanding voice spoke.

"Freeze!"

Without warning the courtyard was flooded with light. Blinded, the four figures stood stock-still but for the arms and hands they flung up to their faces for protection from the unexpected glare.

"Face the wall and put your hands over your heads!"

Chino, Espadrille, and Hoodie turned to look at Lucre, who had been bringing up the rear.

"I thought you shut down the power circuits to the searchlights," growled Chino.

"Ooops," said Lucre. "Oh dear…there's always something…"

The dapper figure of Inspector Houndstooth stepped out of the darkness and eyed the four wanna-be escapees.

"Well, well. If it isn't the Fashionistas."

"Houndstooth." Chino growled his name from behind gritted teeth.

"Indeed, it is I!" responded Houndstooth, cheerily. "You didn't think that your little prison escapade could escape my trained eye, did you, Chino? Though I must say, it really was a valiant attempt. Most of your fellow criminals think only of brute force as the way out of prison. Leave it to a slippery character like yourself to try to exploit a gifted fellow inmate like Mr. Lurman. Very, very clever. But, of course, ultimately unsuccessful. And now – back to your cells."

With this, a phalanx of burly prison guards seized the offenders, began shackling them, and made to muscle them inside.

"Hold there, men – Lurman's coming with me." At Houndstooth's instruction, two of the guards shoved Lucre in his direction, causing the villain to go flying into the Inspector.

"Wait!" The distress on Hoodie's face took nearly everyone on the scene by surprise. "Where are you taking Francis?"

"Why, my dear Miss LaHood," began Houndstooth, daintily brushing his pants as if there might be traces of Lurman there. "You can't imagine that I would leave Mr. Lurman in the same facility with you and your fellow fashion criminals, to be manipulated once again? We foiled your escape this time – but it would be absolutely foolhardy to leave a weapon like Frugal Lucre in your clutches. No, we're moving him to a different penitentiary, where he will be far from your seductive wiles."

Frugal seemed unsure whether to be proud of his new status as superweapon or hurt by Houndstooth's low opinion of his ability to resist seductive wiles.

"Francis! No!" Hoodie cried out, as the guards began roughly pushing her, a dejected Chino, and an indifferent Espadrille back to their cells.

"Good-bye, Hoodie!" Francis called after her. "Call me when you get out!" He paused, then continued, "But not collect!"

II.

Hoodie sat on the cot in her cell, gazing at a picture of Lurman he had given her not long ago. Espadrille lay on the bed, facing the wall.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe it!" Hoodie wailed, clutching the picture to her chest.

"Oh, give it a rest, Hoods," said Espadrille without looking around. "We got played."

"What?" Hoodie lifted her tear-stained face from the picture and looked at Espadrille's back in confusion.

The brunette turned over and sighed. "Look, Lucre may not be the suavest guy around, but Chino's right – the guy's some kind of genius, and if he'd really wanted to get us out of here, he'd have succeeded."

She continued, ignoring Hoodie's widening eyes.

"You think that Houndstooth just stumbled on the plan? You think Lurman just _forgot_ to cut the power to the lights? I'm telling you, Hoods, Lucre _played_ us. He's not getting transferred to some other prison – he's walking out of here. He made a deal, hung us out to dry, and is gonna be off pursuing his weirdo supervillain dreams. Like, y'know, diverting a nickel out of every parking meter in America."

She turned back over towards the wall. "To be honest, I'm kind of impressed. I thought he was some garden-variety loser. Turns out he was more clever than all of us." She sighed. "I'm goin' to sleep."

_I don't believe it, _thought Hoodie. _Francis wouldn't do that to me._

She sat on the bed, holding the photo, and stared out at the moonless night.

III.

Lucre sat on the bed, contemplating his fate.

"Dude! _What_ did I tell ya!? She was playin' ya, Lucre."

Motor Ed was reveling in his vindication.

"I was soooo right, yeah! Seriously, bro. Seriously. She sucked you in, convinced you to break her and her boys out, and now – your plot failed, and you're stuck here in the hoosegow with me for who knows how many more years. Seriously."

Ed waited for Lucre to rise to the bait.

Lucre smiled.

"That's where you're wrong, Edwin."

He reached under the bed and pulled out a packed duffel bag.

"I told you not to call me that!" raged Ed, before noticing the duffel.

"Dude?" Ed looked at Lucre, nonplussed. "They're transferring you?"

Lucre's smile grew broader. "No, Ed. I'm a free man. I've paid my debt to society."

He reached into a pocket of his prison jumpsuit and withdrew a small snap of Hoodie, smiling into the camera, eyes, as ever, invisible under the hood of her sweatshirt.

Lucre regarded the picture for a moment, his face unreadable, before tucking it into a pocket of the duffel bag. From another pocket, he pulled out a scrap of paper with some writing on it.

"Sure, romance is great. It was fun while it lasted. But, you know, Ed, I've got aspirations. I'm not just some prison yard studmuffin. I'm a rising supervillain. I can have a girlfriend later, when I'm fabulously rich and powerful."

He paused, looking thoughtful, and gazed out the window.

"But now I have a chance to take my game to the next level. Sure, it was great talking villain shop in here with you and everybody else. But now it's time to put it to work. Put it to the test. And beef up my evil resume while I'm at it. Y'know, I believe that, with the right support, I'll really thrive!"

His eyes gleamed from under thick brows.

"And I've got just the life coach in mind."

Just then, a guard came to the cell.

"Lucre! Let's go!"

Lurman stood up, slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, and headed towards the door.

Motor Ed watched him go, incredulously. "Bro! Where ya goin'? Seriously!"

Lurman looked back. "Oh, don't worry, Ed, I'll be just fine. And I'll give your cousin your regards! Ta-ta!"

As he walked out of the cell he looked back down at the scrap of paper, on which was written a set of geocoordinates somewhere in the Caribbean, with one word written beneath them:

_Drakken._

IV.

Kim was peering into her locker, organizing her thoughts before heading home, when she felt a familiar presence in the corridor with her. _Two _familiar presences, in fact. She sighed and, without even turning around, asked, "Ok, Tweedledum and Twilldedee, what now?"

The fashion police failed to display any amusement whatsoever. "Nothing further, Miss Possible. We simply wanted to thank you for your assistance with the Lucre-Hoodie file."

"Assistance?" Kim turned to them, skepticism and disappointment written on her face. "We didn't get anything out of Frugal or Hoodie. We still don't know what they're up to."

Tweed plucked the earpiece out of his right ear and let it dangle over his shoulder. "Inspector Houndstooth had greater success, and he asked us to stop by to express our appreciation for your time."

Just then Ron loped up to the three of them, and eyed the fashion police.

"Listen – wondering – I've gotta know - what do you think of the movie _Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid_?"

The two men exchanged a look before Tweed responded. "I enjoyed it. But I'd have to take issue with the title."

Twill nodded. "We really shouldn't say more than that."

Kim looked from Twill back to Tweed. "So where are you off to now? Vacation?"

"No ma'am," answered Twill. "There are unspeakable fashion crimes transpiring at every moment, somewhere. At the moment we're headed for…," checking his PDA, "…Staten Island." He shuddered.

It was Ron's turn to nod. "We want you on that wall."

Twill turned to her, then to Ron. "Thanks again for your help, Miss Possible. Mr. Stoppable: try to stay out of trouble." He looked Ron up and down. "And spandex."

And with that, the fashion police walked off, leaving a bemused Kim and an annoyed Ron behind them.

"Hey! Was that a shot? That was definitely a shot!"

Kim put her hand on Ron's to soothe him. "C'mon, Ron, forget about it...How about a little BN break?"

Ron smiled. "Consider it forgotten, KP."

They headed off down the hall.

"Y'know, KP, whatever the outcome, I think we can all agree that was a ripping yarn."

Kim shoved him into the lockers with a crash.

"Ok! Ok! No more puns!"

* * *

Author's Note:

So…there you have it. Three months, a mere 7500 words later, and having exhausted nearly every fashion-related pun I could come up with, my VDayPalooza fic is finally complete. Hope you enjoyed it and laughed a bit, and that you'll leave a review!

And now, finally, with this distraction done, I can get back to _Diplomacy in Action_, my neglected first love. Go re-read it, 'cuz I'll be updating it soon! (Note that RonHeartbreaker tracks his updates in geological time...)


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